Read Online Destroying Angel by Sam Hastings - Free Book Online Page B

Fine Wines?’
    ‘More or less, yes.’
    ‘And this is based entirely on speculation?’
    ‘No,’ Susan replied indignantly, ‘it’s based on an analysis of probability. I have no hard evidence, but the probability of the three events – Alan Sowerby’s death, Paulette and my interview with de Vergy, and the fire – not being causally linked are tiny. I would estimate—’
    ‘Stop, hold on. Who’s Alan Sowerby?’
    ‘The writer who died of food poisoning.’
    ‘And you don’t have any hard evidence?’
    ‘No…’ Susan admitted, ‘but—’
    ‘Miss MacQuillan,’ Gage broke in once more, ‘I cannot base an investigation on such vague speculation. You must know that.’
    ‘Sure,’ Susan conceded, ‘I don’t expect you to. But bear it in mind when you’re interviewing.’
    ‘Fortunately,’ Gage was becoming slightly irritated by the pace and intensity of Susan’s approach, ‘there isn’t any need for further interviews. The fire has an MO that fits perfectly with the previous five warehouse fires started by the arsonist they’re calling the Fire Ghost.’
    ‘I’m sure it does,’ Susan persisted, ‘but that in no way alters my reasoning.’
    ‘What reasoning? Your theory is pure speculation. Any three events might be linked, the way you put it. It’s obviously just chance—’
    ‘No, no, you don’t understand—’
    ‘Stop!’ Gage had heard enough. ‘Look, I know you were in the force and I do have some respect for your opinion, but if I go off on some hare-brained side-track the Super will have my guts for garters. If you can bring me some more concrete information, then I’ll listen. Until then, be a love and leave it out, okay?’
    Susan made to say something more and then stopped, leaving Gage with the satisfied feeling of having won the argument, and a slight sense of unease because he hadn’t entirely understood her explanation.
    Susan walked across the slowly drying puddles of the yard, feeling intensely irritated. The disinclination of the police to follow lines of reasoning based on probabilities had always infuriated her. It was not as if she thought such intangible ideas should be acceptable in court, merely that, in the absence of hard evidence, using probability as a tool often produced results.
    Shrugging off her annoyance, she turned her mind to the main question raised by the fire. Was Annabella de Vergy involved in some way? After interviewing her and then playing with her, Susan had been convinced of her innocence. Following the fire, it was no longer possible to be so sure. Assuming that a link existed, then anybody who had spoken to Annabella also became suspect. There had been only twelve hours between them leaving Annabella’s house and the fire. If her reasoning was correct, then there could only be a small number of possibilities.
    One of those possibles had to be the man Annabella was now standing with at the far side of the yard. He was shorter than de Vergy, red-haired and very red-faced. Dressed smartly, carrying a briefcase and with the subtle air of natural arrogance that Susan had learnt to associate with English public-school types, she found herself filled with an instant dislike. Telling herself not to be irrational, not to say prejudiced, she approached the couple.
    ‘Susan, what are you doing?’ Annabella asked in surprise as Susan greeted her.
    ‘I wondered if I might help,’ Susan offered, deciding on a pose of friendly usefulness. Of course, if Annabella was linked to the fire, let alone Sowerby’s death, then she would hardly hire a private investigator to look into it. Bearing this in mind, an acceptance from her would put her innocence beyond any reasonable doubt. In Susan’s experience, no criminal, however confident, would actually hire someone to investigate them.
    ‘Help?’ Annabella asked, sounding puzzled.
    ‘I didn’t mention it yesterday,’ Susan replied. ‘I used to be in the police. I’m a private investigator